My Wishful Thinking Page 2

  A piece of long brown wet hair falls over her face. “I guess so.”

  “We are going to get this open. I want this purse.” My voice is way more intense than it should be or even than I meant for it to be. I’m not sure when I decided it would be mine, but I did.

  Em whispers, “I think it’s luggage, Lo.”

  “Luggage. Purse. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Here, take this.”

  Em faces me and grabs one handle. I take the other, and we pull and pull. No progress. We stop for a minute. Take some deep breaths.

  “Okay, on three,” I say. “One…two…three…”

  On three, there’s a POP! Something gives, and it’s like when you’ve been pulling and someone lets go of your hand. I fly backward and bang into Mannequin Betsy. Her head wobbles, topples, drops. Then bops mine.

  “Ouch! Eff you, Betsy!” I toss her head aside and Em cracks up‌—‌then gulps hard. Her eyes bulge. She’s completely freaked.

  And so am I.

  Because from inside the fabulous purse-slash-luggage, smoke pours out and fills the shop.

  CHAPTER 4

  OMIGOD, OMIGOD! It’s a bomb. That’s what was so heavy. The smoke fills the room and I’m choking, coughing, tearing up. “Em, are you okay?”

  Nothing.

  “Emily? Em?” I crawl on the floor, trying to make sure to go around the bag, but then I see her practically kneeling, balanced over the purse, peering into it.

  “What’s making that?” she asks and sticks her hand inside.

  “Omigod, Em! Get away from it!”

  Even more smoke pours from the bag, while she fans her arm over the opening. There’s a huge whoosh of wind and a shadow forms in the haze. And then…the cloud blows away, and there’s a guy standing with both feet inside the bag.

  Like magic.

  Except, I’m not a magician. And neither is Em.

  The guy steps out of the bag.

  “Stop! Right there!” I point at his feet. Which are wearing‌—‌I swear to God‌—‌a pair of brown platform shoes.

  My eyes travel up his pants. Oh, God! How throwback. His look is Saturday Night Fever meets Ren Faire. A very eclectic style, but whatever, it’s bold. And he totally fits in with Betsy’s display. Other than the clothes, he looks mostly normal, like any guy who goes to Cypress Woods. Tall and lanky. Pale. Freckles. A young-and-mischievous-ginger-Prince-Harry look, which strikes me as pretty harmless. Some of my fear disappears, but not all of it, because that innocent-persona thing can cover up some scary shit.

  “Don’t take another step, or I’ll, I’ll‌—‌” I pick up Betsy’s head then cock my arm. Do I plan to use her as a weapon?

  The guy blinks twice and asks in a confused voice, “Who summoned me?”

  Summoned? Who talks like that? “No one effing summoned you!” I hope my tone is ferocious enough to cover up the way I’m shaking.

  He moves to take a step, but when I pull my arm back farther he freezes. With both of his hands face out he says, “Someone summoned me.” The guy looks scared of the wrath of Betsy, and I can’t say I blame him. I’ve got a pretty good lump where she landed on my head.

  The smoke has dissipated, but now what? Think, think. Okay. So, this whole spectacle has gotta be because of the magician, right? Maybe he’s trying out a new trick? We’re his guinea pigs? If so, it’s a good one.

  I’m about to tell him to compliment his boss when Em asks, “What’s your name?”

  Does she think we should make friends or something?

  He twists to look at her without moving his platforms an inch. Good. Me and Betsy are in charge.

  “I don’t have a name, but you may call me Eugene. That is what my former master called me. Of course, if you are the one who summoned me, you may call me anything you wish.” His eyes have an impish twinkle.

  Eugene? That can’t possibly be his name. Master? That’s mental. What’s up with the twinkle? I don’t feel in control anymore.

  “Are you part of some D&D role-playing thing?” Em asks.

  “He’s a freak!” I yell.

  “I don’t understand ‘role-playing’ or ‘freak’. Sorry.” He smiles, and surprisingly it’s a nice one. Geeky, but friendly and…kind. “But I must determine which of you is responsible for the summoning. It is imperative.”

  Do freaks have nice smiles? Because the thing is he seems sincere‌—‌

  Wait! What am I thinking? He’s dressed very Sly from the Family Stone. He’s definitely not 21st century normal.

  Em asks him, “Why is it imperative?”

  “To find my new master. And grant that person’s every wish.”

  There’s dead silence while I think, Okay, so I was right the first time. He’s nuts. Crazier than Mr. Mysterical. And maybe that’s why he left him here? “Look Eugene‌—‌or whatever your name is‌—‌joke’s over. You got us good. Ha-ha. We’re both laughing. So why don’t you just leave? And that way, Em won’t have to call the cops. Right, Em?”

  She nods.

  “But I must‌—‌”

  “Find your master. Yeah, I got it. But your master is not here‌—‌” I wave my arms around, “‌—‌at Rag to Ritzy. Okay? So take off, but leave the purse.”

  When I say this, his eyes dart back and forth and his hands start to shake. “I cannot leave the case. It is my home.”

  This just keeps getting more and more effing bizarre. Somehow my life always takes me in directions I don’t want to go. For instance: I didn’t get to have a say when Dad took off. It’s the same thing in this situation, Em and Eugene are making all the calls. Believe me, if I were in charge, I would’ve already bopped him with Betsy and that would’ve been that. He’d be long gone.

  Or unconscious.

  I face Eugene. “You don’t live in the bag. Even bag ladies don’t live in the bag,” I tell him.

  Em is looking at him like he’s some kind of lost puppy. That’s what I love and hate about her‌—‌kindness.

  “Em, why don’t you call the cops?”

  “But‌—‌”

  I’ve got him covered.” I raise Betsy’s head and wiggle it. “Or else I’d call them myself. Just get your effing cell phone and let’s end this.”

  CHAPTER 5

  EM STANDS UP. THANK GOD! But all she does is take Betsy’s head out of my hands and screw it back onto the mannequin’s shoulders.

  Then she takes my coffee from the counter, looks at it as if it might hold the mysteries of the universe and finally takes a sip. She speaks with Lazy River calm, “I don’t think we summoned you.”

  Eugene freaks out, his face turning bright red. “If you did not summon me, then I need to get back to Richard. He will be very angry.”

  “Who’s Richard?” Em asks, like this could be considered a normal conversation.

  “He is a very famous magician.” Eugene’s voice shakes. “I must return to my home.” Then he steps back into the bag.

  Crazy. “Right. Your master is Richard. Do you call him Dick?”

  “I do not understand ‘dick,’” he says all wide-eyed.

  If he wasn’t insisting the bag was his home, that would make me laugh.

  “Wait a minute,” Em says. Her tone identical to someone trying to talk down a jumper. The funny thing is, I’m not sure if it’s meant for Eugene or me. “Can I look in the bag?”

  Both of them. Effing crazy.

  When Eugene nods and steps away, Em goes over to the bag and kneels beside it. She carefully moves the handles even farther apart, then peers in. “Omigod, Lo! You’re not gonna believe this!”

  I scramble over next to her and look inside. My hand flies to my mouth. It looks like a home. His home?

  Inside the purse is miniature furniture. It’s a dollhouse version of Aladdin or some freaky-themed discothèque to go with his mental outfit. Silky, sheer-as-anything drapes hang from poles that surround a round bed. All around the bottom there are teeny, tiny puffs of pillows, patterned more intricately than the embroid
ery on the outside of the bag. A table. Doll-sized chairs. Itty-bitty dishes. It’s cute, and weird.

  Very, very weird.

  “Are you a genie?” Em asks.

  “Em!” I’m really worried about her.

  “Look,” she says to me, “an hour ago I’d have thought this question was insane. But when a guy appears in a puff of smoke and tells you he lives in a fully furnished piece of luggage and that he can grant wishes, well, things change. All right? Please answer my question, Eugene.”

  See? Em is polite. Even with the certifiably insane.

  Eugene shifts from foot to foot. “Yes, that is what some people call us.”

  “How long were you with Richard?” she asks.

  “In the way you measure time, forty years.”

  Impossible! Richard didn’t even look forty. Now I know this guy is makin’ shit up. “Um…are you sure? Or was he very young‌—‌a child‌—‌when he summoned you?”

  Eugene’s grimaces as if he’s in pain and there’s a strain in his voice. “No, he was fully grown. One of his wishes was to stay young.”

  Em flashes me a look as I gasp. “I told you there was something totally freaky about that guy. But no, you thought I imagined it.”

  I twist the ring on my right hand and say to Eugene. “He left you here, you know? Couldn’t wait to get rid of you. So does that mean one of us is your new master?” I can’t believe I’m asking questions now. Like anyone would believe in genies.

  Eugene nods.

  “Right. Of course it does.” I laugh, high and wild. “Well, how do we figure out which one?”

  “You must wish.”

  Here? Now? I look at my watch. It’s time to close the store. “One sec.” I flip the sign to read closed and turn the deadbolt. I can’t believe I’m going to go along with this, but I can’t stop myself either.

  An elderly woman carrying a bright red umbrella walks by outside the window and gives me a little finger wave. Anyone looking in the window could see where we’re standing, right in front of the counter.

  “Maybe we should move to the back. So no one can see, in case…in case something weird happens.”

  Like it’s gonna get any weirder.

  Em and Eugene follow me to the corner with the three-way mirror that’s set up as a conversation area with chairs, a loveseat and a shabby Persian rug we’ve never been able to sell. Mannequin Monnique stands next to mirror, dressed for a black tie event. We’re surrounded by glittery gowns. Again I get that sense of all of us going back and back as the mirror reflects on itself.

  “You go first,” I say to Em.

  She closes her eyes and says, “Hmmm. Something to do with Nigel, I think. Okay. I got it. I wish I had tickets to Warped Tour.”

  Nigel has gone to this concert the last three years. Em has always wanted to go with him. I go to say Good one, Em, as a pulse, not quite invisible but transparent, flows from Eugene’s forehead. It flies across the room and through it I can see the mirror and Mannequin Monnique distorted like when you look at something through tremendous heat. Clothes on the rack ruffle as it passes, and the gown on the end falls to the floor.

  Pretty effing freaky. But nothing else happens.

  “Guess it’s not me.” Em’s voice dribbles disappointment. “Your turn.”

  What should I wish for? A million bucks? Warped Tour tickets for Emily? Maybe I’ll make it something easy, that way when he can’t even grant that Em will realize he’s an imposter. Yeah, that’s the way to go to end this game. I don’t bother to close my eyes.

  “I wish I didn’t have to work tomorrow.” The pulse shimmers again and ricochets off Monnique. And then the phone rings.

  CHAPTER 6

  I JUMP. WOW! PRETTY FREAKY. My heart pounds as I walk behind the counter. The caller ID shows it’s Marcia. What if he is real? Now my heart races and I try to steady my hand and take a deep breath before answering. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Logan sweetie.” Aunt Marcia’s voices crackles through the line. I’m so glad I caught you. You must be ready to lock up.”

  “Yep. Five more minutes and I’m out of here.” And maybe I’ll sleep in tomorrow. Pure bliss.

  Marcia interrupts my daydream. “Listen, tomorrow I need you to open for me again.”

  “Huh?”

  “That’s all right, isn’t it? You were going to work anyway. I have to run by the bank in the morning. Besides, you’ll already have the keys from closing.” Marcia’s tone is worried.

  I don’t understand what is going on. I’d almost convinced myself that the pulse thing meant my wish would be fulfilled. I shake my head to clear it. “Yeah. Sure. Fine.”

  “Okay. Great. And thank you, sweetie. I should be there before eleven. See you then.”

  I end the call, and both Em and Eugene are staring at me.

  “So it’s you. Congrats.” Em is smiling, but I’m not sure she’s completely happy.

  “It’s not,” I say. “Marcia wanted to ask me if I could open tomorrow.”

  Em’s face falls. She turns to Eugene and shakes her finger at him. “That was pretty lame. No wonder Richard left you here.”

  Whoa! I can’t believe she said that. I mean, she’s right, but it’s totally not like her to call someone out.

  Eugene practically collapses into the overstuffed chair. He looks at his feet and mumbles, “I don’t understand. I could feel the wishes, both of them. And I felt the urge to grant them. But the granting was weak. I knew that as soon as it left me. This has never happened before.” His left hand rubs his forehead. “I must think about this.”

  “Maybe you’re losing your mojo,” I say.

  Eugene doesn’t look up from the floor. “I don’t understand this word ‘mojo.’ But I must figure out who is the master.”

  I gotta give him credit, he’s determined to keep the prank going. I look at my watch again. “Hey! I need to arm the alarm in the next two minutes or the security company will put in a call to Marcia. Eugene, we’re gonna have to figure out the whole ‘who is master’ thing somewhere else.” One look at him, at his strange attire, tells me he might call a little unwanted attention to us. I eye him; he looks to be about a size thirty-two or thirty-three. From the rack next to Mannequin Trudy, I grab a pair of surf jams and a tee. I rip the tags off and lay them by the cash register. “Here. Go change.” I toss the clothes at him, motioning to the dressing room.

  He’s quick about it and hey, what do ya know, when he comes out a minute later he could look good, if he had a clue.

  Practically a cutie. But the shoes gotta go.

  I point to his platforms and grab a pair of size 11 sandals. “Take those off.” He looks sad to leave the shoes behind, so I say, “You can bring them.” I pick up the bag, my purse and car keys. “C’mon, Eugene. I got your crib.”

  But he leaves the shoes and mumbles to his feet as he shuffles behind us. I reach the front door, looking out at the pouring rain‌—‌incredibly, it’s still pounding us. Eugene bumps into me, a look of panic flashing across his face.

  I know how he feels, but at least he’s dressed for getting wet. I sigh and turn to Em.

  In that freaky blood-sister mode that we have, we both say in unison. “I wish this rain would stop,” followed by, “Jinx!”

  We crack up, until without warning, the shimmering pulse happens again. Except this time it’s like a huge balloon is inflated inside the store, squeezing every single thing, including us.

  CHAPTER 7

  THE PRESSURE FROM the shimmer builds and builds and builds. And then, just as suddenly, it’s gone.

  The rain shuts off, like when you turn the faucet handle in your shower. There are two, maybe three, drips from the roof. That was pretty effing bizarre. If I didn’t know better…

  Em gasps and clutches my wrist, while Eugene stares outside, a crooked grin plastered across his face.

  “We really need to go,” I insist, shaking free of her grip so I can tap in the activation code. One long beep sounds, an
d we’re outta here. Even though the rain has stopped, it left behind thick, steamy air that feels like I’m breathing inside a dryer of wet towels. Puddles dot the parking lot, the bag jostles as I jump over one.

  Em says to me, “Be careful! You’ll knock over all his furniture.”

  Oh, crap! “Eugene, I’m sorry.”

  “It is fine. My home is enchanted.”

  Right. “So it won’t move or break? At all?”

  “It is fine. Do not worry.”

  And the thing is: he doesn’t look worried in the least. Instead, he’s staring at the cars and the shopping center, looking like he’s awed by a totally tame and lame suburban scene. I try to ignore his weirdness, popping my trunk while hoping, wishing, and praying for a spot to wedge the tote into. The problem? I tend to travel with an incredible amount of shit.

  “You never use that stuff. I’ll help you clean it.” Em pushes some beach towels aside. “Why do you need three first aid kits?”

  I give her a smirk with a quick hip shake. “A lot of guys adore the junk in my trunk.” Then I rearrange everything until I can wedge the bag into the small, new space.

  “Go on.” I motion at him with my keys. “Disappear or shrink or whatever it is you do.”

  “No!” Em hollers. “We can’t ride around with him in your trunk.”

  “It’s his home. It’s no biggie, right, Eugene?”

  Our faux-real genie is staring up into the sky. Practically looking straight into the sun. My question doesn’t faze him.

  “It’s not right. Eugene, get in the backseat.” Em insists and gives me her I-mean-business-look, which usually makes me laugh because it’s so non-threatening. But I don’t this time, because it is. Threatening, I mean.

  “Okay, chill. I was kidding. You don’t actually think he can disappear into the bag, do you?

  “I, uh‌—‌”

  “You do! You believe him.” I shake my head. Doesn’t she get that he was dropped off by a magican? One who is probably testing out his next illusion? “Em, Em, Em. If crazy shit starts happening when I’m driving, just remember you wanted this.”